Journal of Lifesinger Aletheia, Auri'ilith Chapter of the Sisters of Sunlight. M31-995-7-15.

The days of judgement have finally come.

Our home systems lay besieged by an enemy that the united galaxy has failed to stop.

The stars burned with the flames of war for the better part of a century. Thousands of star systems, conquered. Hundreds of living garden worlds, extirpated to the last living creature, scoured to the living bones of the earth. Not to mention the countless brave souls who took to the warships in a vain attempt to defeat the Abominable Intelligence that took the galaxy by storm.

Where were the supposedly endless hordes of the Irassian Concordat, whose warriors purportedly numbered as many as the grains of sand upon Auri'ilith itself? Cast down by the abominable synthetics that their decadent elite once saw as slaves to attend to their every whim. Their home planet turned to a giant, smoke-belching cesspit of machinery, built atop the graveyard of their fallen. Their colonies reduced to rubble within a scant six years; their proud fortresses laid low by orbital bombardment; their slave-run farms scorched clean by hunter-killer drones.

Where were the titanic lifeforms of Yuhtaan, who boasted that their gargantuan vessels could crush entire fleets? It seemed that their continent-crushing cannons could do little when presented with millions upon millions of tiny targets, each delivering a single cyclonic torpedo capable of boring through a titan's armour. The symbol of their might, the pride and joy of their fleet – and dare I say, the very soul of their imperium – now lies in the heart of a star, driven there by a relentless swarm of enemies too small for its great gun to destroy. As were its smaller cousins, all destroyed in the same manner.

The human Sol Republic, our most agreeable neighbour, fought long and hard. Their losses numbered in the billions of soldiers, both of land garrisons and of naval marines. Dozens of their own worlds were strip-mined bare to provide material for foundry-stations and shipyards. Systems in hyperlane junctions, once popular trade hubs, were heavily fortified to deny their relentless enemy access to the home systems. Even if those planets could hold out but for three years, it was considered to be a worthwhile delay. Alas, even with their sacrifice, the inexorable march of our abominable enemy continues. Leaving only scorched graveyard-worlds in their wake.

How would one stop an enemy that requires neither food nor sleep, nor recreation, nor comfort? The Conclave of our most holy mother's church beseeched her for an answer for the last twenty years. Our leader, High Priestess Miria, has finally revealed a ritual that shall provide salvation, after a week of seclusion within the Shroud.

One that is abhorrent to even think about, had we lived in better times.

A blood ritual, involving seventy-two million simultaneous sacrifices of those gifted in peering into the Shroud's nebulous depths, in exchange for a gateway to another galaxy for about two minutes.

Two minutes. For seventy-two million lives.

She assured us that the gateway shall be large enough to fit a single battleship, if only just. I very nearly lost my composure and screamed at her for even thinking such sacrilege! Auri preached of mercy; of the value of life; of the wrongness of shedding blood for one's own gains!

Yet to my shame, I knew that in my mind what the High Priestess suggested was our species' only chance of survival. Even if in my heart, I truly believed that killing another living being was an action reprehensible beyond words.

How I long for the simpler times, when a single death was a tragedy worthy of a lengthy funeral.

For the last ten years, every funeral that I have held was a massed one for hundreds, if not thousands, to be returned to the Great Mother simultaneously. Each one consisting of the bodies being hastily consecrated with their last rites, before throwing them into a furnace which scatters their ashes to the winds. I see in the grim faces of those attending that their hearts are now hardened towards loss. That death was just something normal and worthy of little more than a footnote on an insignificant administrative report.

It rightly should be abhorrent to my mind to even entertain the thought of willingly sacrificing millions. Yet war appears to change all of us in ways that are decidedly unpleasant. If the sacrifice of seventy-two million would mean that a hundred thousand could have another chance, is it truly worth the stain on one's conscience? If the alternative of not doing so would very likely mean the end of all organic civilisations? A hundred years ago, if one had asked me that question, I would have ordered them to visit a mind healer, post-haste.

Now?

I weep at the mere notion that the sacrifice of so many would soon be thought of as a mere statistic. Worse yet, a necessity for survival.

It seems in this cruel universe, there was but one cardinal rule for those beyond the light of our Great Mother. One must either claim victory, or die, there being no middle ground.

May Auri preserve us all through these dark times.

A single oversized battleship sat in orbit above Auri'ilith. Its golden, rounded hull, once studded with dozens of plasma projectors of various sizes, were now covered in cargo pods of various shapes and sizes. Hundreds of cargo shuttles ferried items onto the vessel: shipping containers crammed full of food; storage racks of refined alloys and processed mineral ingots; carefully packaged crates of consumer electronics and assorted creature comforts; seed banks of the most useful plants known to the galaxy. Ammunition magazines that once stored mountains of quick-discharge antimatter pods were now packed floor to ceiling with cryosleep pods, and coolant flushing systems had been replaced with oxygen scrubbers and water recyclers. Only the spinal-mounted particle lance had been left in place, and then only because it would have taken too much time to separate the gigantic weapon from the durasteel superstructure.

It galled Shipmistress Vel'ara that her ship – the Eternal Dawn, flagship of the Auri've Union – had been reduced to a mere armoured colony ship. Yet she could not dispute the necessity of such actions. Day by day, the dire reports from the front line showed that victory was an impossibility. The enemy was backed by the resources from the rest of the known galaxy. The last empire in the way of the Abominable Intelligence, the Sol Republic, had been glassed to oblivion six months ago. Its remaining fleets voluntarily submitted themselves to the Auri've Union in a desperate attempt to preserve the last bastion of organic life. Even then, the last remaining humans were perishing at an alarming rate on the front lines.

Not that the arachnid Irassians were doing much better. The ones that had unleashed the mechanical plague upon the galaxy were the first to perish. Only a few thousand remained of trillions, driven by vengeance into performing suicide strikes deep into the Abominable Intelligence's lines. And soon to be entirely extinct, courtesy of their creations that had doomed the galaxy in the first place.

Her thoughtful reverie was broken by the crackling of the comms terminal in front of her. "Shipmistress, the preparations are almost complete. Cargo bays seventeen through twenty are filled, pending final sealing. Our fellow brothers and sisters that will journey with us currently rest within cryosleep pods. Awaiting further instructions," spoke her adjutant.

"Send non-essential staff to their sleep pods. The less presence we have in The Shroud as we travel, the safer it shall be for all," replied Vel'ara. "Engineering, stand by for departure,"

"Your will be done, shipmistress. Auri'ilith spaceport is signalling that the docking clamps are unlocked, and travel lanes are clear to the stationary orbit at point seven-five. We are clear to depart on your orders,"

"Acknowledged. Perform final checks and prepare for departure in ten minutes. Recon fleet, standby in vanguard position,"

Standing up, Vel'ara could see the green and blue orb of Auri'ilith. Fluffy flecks of white drifted across its skies, seemingly oblivious to the galaxy-spanning scourge that was about to consume the planet. As serene when seen from the void as it were from the tranquil beaches that she had spent her childhood in. How she wished that it were possible for Auri to move her home to another galaxy; but the priesthood had mentioned that doing so would cost as much Auri've blood as to fill the oceans seven times over.

Of the billions of souls that lived in the planet, only two hundred thousand would come with them.

The last hope of a burning galaxy. To escape before the last embers of civilisation burned into ash as cold as stellar dust.

On the holotank on the bridge, she could see a live feed of the grand holotemple. Depictions of various animals and plants – testaments to Auri's glory – covered every square inch of the walls and ceilings in all the myriad vivid colours of nature. A temple that ordinarily brought joy to those who saw it, and a renewed zest for life that stood within its hallowed halls.

Yet the faces of the Auri've assembled within are filled with grim determination. Their vulpine ears flattened low to their skulls, and their three tails tucked tightly between their legs. Each gripped a ceremonial silver blade tightly in their hands. At the altar at the very head of the congregation, a priestess held her hand over an ornate silver chalice. Singing a quiet hymn, she slashed open her wrist and let her scarlet lifeblood fill the vessel.

"Great Mother, please hear our plea. The stars burn with the fires of the Abominable Intelligence, and your children cry for salvation. We beseech you to show us a path in our darkest hour, so that an ember of creation may yet live on,"

"Great Mother, hear our plea!" chanted the congregation.

"Life, death and rebirth. The Eternal Symphony of your magnificence and wisdom. Creation and destruction, in equal balance. Perfect in its simplicity and humbling in its equanimity. We plead for your intercession, Great Mother, for without your light we would not be able to survive the darkest of nights. The price of flesh and blood I shall willingly give of myself, so that others may see the glory of a new dawn,"

Holding up the chalice with her bloodied wrist, the priestess murmured a quiet prayer. Her eyes glowed with an inner silver flame. A flame that was soon mirrored by the white flames burning within the chalice.

"We offer of ourselves, our blood, spirit and flesh," intoned the rest of the congregation. In unison, they also slashed open a wrist, allowing their blood to fall like rain upon the polished marble floor.

"Praise be to Auri! Bask in her glorious incandescence!" cried out the priestess.

"Praise the sun! She who nurtures and brings forth life!"

"Praise be to Auri! May we embrace her warmth for all eternity!"

"Praise the sun! She who banishes the darkness!"

"Praise be to Auri! Let the life of this unworthy servant bring forth the dawn for others!"

"Praise the sun! May she accept this meagre offering!"

The holotank filled with a blinding white light, illuminating the entire bridge. Between the fingers shielding her eyes, Vel'ara could see that similar lights were burning in the centres of each major city on the planet. And then, as if on cue, a tear in the fabric of reality began to form before her eyes. A gash in space, rimmed by ethereal silver flames, through which unfamiliar stars could be seen.

"The portal! Engineering, disengage thrust limiters!" barked the shipmistress. "Go! All engineers, double time! Helm, set this ship into position! Recon fleet, advance!"

As the light corvettes sped through the portal, Vel'ara sneaked one last look at the holotank. The priestess – and in fact, all the congregation – were slumped over wherever they once stood. Their bodies were blazing with the same silver flames that formed the portal. Yet with every passing moment, the flames were growing steadily dimmer. The spirits of the fallen whispered in her ears; should the flames be extinguished, the portal would seal itself shut – separating the two planes of reality once more.

She shivered as the unpleasant mental image of the battleship being cleaved in half by a closing portal came to mind. "Redline the reactors, shunt all power to propulsion systems. We go through now!" shouted Vel'ara. The engineers' response caused the ship to shudder and shake in complaint as it swivelled and accelerated far too quickly for its massive frame. Radiation and thermal warnings popped up on her console, the immense energies coursing through the battleship nearly too much for its systems to handle.

With bated breath, she watched carefully as the bow of the ship entered the portal and through the other side. Proximity and radiation alarms blared as the bridge passed dangerously close to its edges. So close, in fact, that he was almost certain that the external LIDAR dome had brushed against it and very nearly melted off. Thermal readings were off the charts; if it were not for the shields, the ship's hull would have melted into slag in short order.

"Very good. We are nearly through. Come on, just a little further-"

A tremendous explosion rocked the ship, throwing the shipmistress to the floor. The lights flickered unsteadily, eventually switching off. Dull red illumination replaced bright white; the emergency lights had taken over. "Status report?" groaned Vel'ara.

"Aft decks ten through thirty-two are severely damaged. We've got hull breaches in at least a hundred different points," replied an ensign, whose fingers flew across the screen to dismiss the endless warnings. "Starboard zero-point reactors two through six are offline, with critical damage to core shielding and power extraction components. Reactor one is functioning at fifty percent capacity and is severely overloaded. Starboard coolant tanks are ruptured, and we're leaking atmosphere at a rapid rate. Bow manoeuvre thrusters are critically damaged by power surges. Our turning capabilities are greatly diminished,"

Vel'ara cursed under her breath. Mounting an EVA mission to repair the bow thrusters on a ship this size would take days, if not weeks. Even then, only if the scouting corvettes could somehow latch on and slow it down first – or if it came to it, somehow forcing a collision with a smaller asteroid to try and offload some momentum. "What about the colonists? Are they secure?"

"Colonist compartments are secure, only superficial damage detected,"

"Thank Auri for small mercies. Engineering, begin patching the hull breaches. Cut off power to thrusters and set shields to deflect any asteroids," the shipmistress sighed. It was not the best outcome, but at the very least the colonists were safe. "Status of the recon fleet?"

"All systems green," replied another voice. "Commander Ilia reporting. All corvettes standing by for further orders,"

"Begin scanning the local system for potential habitable planets and mineral sources. We'll need it to rebuild this ship – and to create a new home for our people,"

A new home for their people.

That task did not sound too daunting when the collective psyche of the rest of the Auri've people were backing this endeavour. When the mighty economy of a civilisation that had sailed among the stars for nearly thirty thousand years was behind you, along with gentle thoughts of encouragement that each person passed through the shroud, it was certainly easy to stand tall in the face of adversity. When the unspoken promise that should one fail, there would be a safe port to return home to fight another day, it was easy to remain calm and collected.

Without either of those, the true crushing magnitude of the task that lay before Shipmistress Vel'ara finally came crashing down on her shoulders.

She could not fail.

She will not fail.

The children of Auri must survive!

A/N:

Plot bunnies jumping up and down in my head. Must purge~

Reverse Gate here, where the Gate appears in space. The exodus fleet arrives about a hundred years before the events of Alnus Hill.